Create
by Danica Napier
Summary: "How about instead of dwelling on the fact that you're bored, you try to make your own fun? It doesn't matter whether it's out in the real world or in your mind. Create it, Sherlock." Sherlock/John.


**Oh my God. This is my first ever Sherlock fic, and this is my first ever slash. Oh my God. **

**Forgive me if this is awful, but I love this pairing way too much to not write about it. However, Sherlock may be OOC in this fic. **

**On a side note: Benedict Cumberbatch! Beautifulness. Third or fourth on my list of hot guys, the number one hot guy is forever Tom Hiddleston (Loki!), second (this list includes non-living actors) is the late Heath Ledger (gotta love the Joker!). R.I.P. Heath Ledger. **

**Anyway, here it is! **

* * *

Sherlock Holmes was bored. Not a new thing, but not a pleasant one either. It was when he was bored that he felt as mundane and _dull _as other humans. He felt part of their boring life and unentertaining activities.

Speaking of unentertaining activities. John wasn't at the flat. He was at _work. _Another uneventful activity in the life of a "normal human", as John had put it. Working was boring. Besides, the main point of working was money. Always money. Money was boring. Sure, it was what kept the world going and what Sherlock and John used to pay for the flat, but it was still just a piece of paper that "normal humans" got greedy with and committed boring crimes to get. Boring.

This boredom was different, though. Even when Sherlock shot the wall numerous times, enough to make Mrs. Hudson scold him and take away his skull again, he was still bored. He sprawled out on the couch and tried to read. He tried nicotine patches. He even tried an actual cigarette, and it still didn't work. He was still _bored. _

"John," Sherlock said, pouting. "Pick up. I'm bored." Either John was "busy" at work or he was just ignoring Sherlock, as he sometimes did when Sherlock was "getting too much for him to handle".

However, within minutes, Sherlock's cell phone rang. It was John.

"Yes, Sherlock?" John asked, sighing.

"I'm bored," Sherlock stated bluntly, and John sighed again.

"And what do you expect me to do about that? Leave work to come home and entertain you?"

"Yes." Sherlock pouted again when John didn't reply. "John?"

"Yeah?" asked John, trying hard to be patient.

"I'm still bored."

"Oh Sherlock," John sighed. "Okay. You say you're bored, yeah?"

"Obviously," Sherlock said, irritated.

"Do you want me to help you or not?"

Sherlock kept silent, and John took that as a yes.

"How about instead of dwelling on the fact that you're bored, you try to make your own fun? It doesn't matter whether it's out in the real world or in your mind. Create it, Sherlock. Now, I have to go, I have a patient. I'll see you later, and I'll bring something to eat. Bye." John hung up.

Sherlock huffed. How was he supposed to make his own fun? Stupid John and his cryptic "solution" to his boredom. How can anything be fun if it doesn't involve chasing criminals around London and… John. Nothing was fun if John wasn't involved in it. Who else was supposed to tell him that he was brilliant and run halfway across London to give him a pen?

_How about instead of dwelling on the fact that you're bored, you try to make your own fun? It doesn't matter whether it's out in the real world or in your mind. Create it, Sherlock. Create. Create. Create._

And create is what Sherlock did.

* * *

Sherlock created a palace first. He called it his mind palace. It was made of the strongest, clearest, brightest glass, because he would never break, he had nothing to hide, and he was the brightest in the world. No one's intelligence came close to Sherlock's. Not even John's. _John…_

Next were the people. No furniture. Furniture was boring. People had the potential to be un-boring. But the majority of people were boring, so it only seemed fit that he have a special select few that were allowed in his mind palace.

Mycroft was first. Despite what everyone thought, Sherlock didn't think his brother was boring. Mycroft was his archenemy, the pain in his side, the annoying flea on a dog, but not boring. Mycroft was the advisor to the king, who was obviously Sherlock. The advisor knew everything about Sherlock's life silently, and cared, worried and advised the king, though the king never listened.

Next was DI Lestrade. He was the head knight, in charge of the protection of Sherlock's mind palace and the kingdom Sherlock ruled over. The only reason Lestrade was even _included _in the mind palace is because while he was boring (though he did give Sherlock cases, and Sherlock needed cases like a king needs his crown), he _needed _Sherlock, or London would be completely helpless and ridden with crime. And Sherlock needed to be needed. After all, genius needed an audience, and Sherlock was a genius.

The third person and the most important person in his mind palace was Dr. John Watson. John was the one person he thought of including first, but the hardest to find a purpose for being in the palace. Mycroft was easily deemed the advisor and Lestrade was immediately titled head knight, so why was John so difficult? He was a puzzle to figure out, and Sherlock couldn't leave a puzzle unsolved.

John could be the doctor of the palace. No. Too boring. He could be the blogger. Yes, that would do. But no, he was more than just the blogger. _I'd be lost without my blogger. _He was the heart, the warmth, the crown, the sun. Sherlock was only the king. John was everything warm and kind and loyal and brave and… he was the creator of the mind palace. Not Sherlock. Sherlock had been the builder. John was the creator. The architect. He was… John. There was nothing more to it. Always John. _My dear Watson. _

"Sherlock?" John walked into the flat carrying groceries. "Are you all right? You look a bit pale."

Sherlock looked through his dark curls to watch John as he set the groceries on the table.

"Did you get over your boredom? You seemed preoccupied, even though you were staring at the wall as if you wanted to burn a hole through it. Speaking of holes in the wall, I really have to clear this flat of any guns. Mrs. Hudson was probably scared out of her mind."

"She's used to it," Sherlock said, and John laughed. When did John's laugh start to have an effect on Sherlock's heart? _Ever since he got his place in your mind palace, Sherlock. _

"So, no more damage other than the wall? That's good, I guess. Are you over your boredom now?"

"Yes," Sherlock said, not looking John in the eyes.

"How'd you get over it?" asked John, standing in the doorway and looking at the consulting detective curiously.

Sherlock lounged back on the couch and stared up at the ceiling, his lips quirking upward into a small smile. "I created."

_You created, too, my dear Watson._

* * *

**Well, I'm satisfied. It's my first go at this fandom, so please tell me what you think. Review please!**

**By the way, please ignore any mistakes. I barely have any time to proofread anymore!**


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